


Labeled

by h0neybee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Jealousy, Kuroo is a simp, Loss of Virginity, Love at First Sight, Lust at First Sight, Naked Cuddling, One Night Stands, kind of, my fave combo, reader is a whore, reader is v flawed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27257920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0neybee/pseuds/h0neybee
Summary: You craved someone who stared at the fire blazing in your eyes and wanted to play with it.Kuroo Tetsuro was not that person.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	1. MODERN LOVE

**page one**

**me:** _guys are the worst_

You texted as you untangled yourself from the sheets of some guy you met last night. He was still asleep, thankfully, cheek pressed to his pillow. Oh. He was drooling. Gross. You picked through the piles of clothes on the floor, trying to find your bra in this mess. No way were you leaving your underwear at a stranger’s house; especially a stranger you promised to never meet again.

 **hitoka baby:** _I didn’t think he was really cheating_

Your dress slid back on to your body. While you’d rather be wearing anything but this, it wasn’t like you were home.

 **me:** _i told you i’d hit him w my car_

Fumbling with your heels, ones you were too lazy to put back on, you quietly made your way out of the apartment. At least the guy hadn’t woken up. The walk of shame wasn’t your favorite pastime, but you were used to it now. Who cared if someone on the street realized why you were still in a dress obviously from last night? You had fun. That was all that mattered.

 **hitoka baby:** _I can’t pay for your bail if you do :(_

Reaching into your purse, you pulled out a stick of gum (grape flavored because you don’t have anything better). At least it would make your morning breath go away.

 **me:** _as long as that bastard gets what he deserves i’ll go to jail_

You never liked Hitoka’s boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now, ha). You’d seen him once from afar while conveniently happening to be in the same place as their date. A complete, total accident that you picked a seat with the best view of them. No matter what Hitoka tried to accuse you of afterwards. You told her his vibes weren’t there, she told you you were overreacting.

 **hitoka baby:** _Are you on your way home?_

 **me:** _yeah b there in a min_

 **hitoka baby:** _Can you pick up some ice cream for me, strawberry please? :( For when we watch the movie_

 **me:** _ofc darlin i’m coming back w his head on a spike too_

 **hitoka baby:** _The police are going to look through our messages and think you’re a criminal._

**page two**

College was your fresh start. The time to shed your high school cocoon and turn into a butterfly. Except Tokyo was nothing like how you imagined it to be. It wasn’t the paradise you imagined it to be. It wasn’t some home away from home. It was just a city you happened to go to college in.

Your mother had been proud of you for getting into Keio University. Even threw you a little celebratory party with all your favorite foods and desserts. Told you she’d always known her baby was going to do great things one day. Your father bought you a new cellphone, too. Awkwardly handed it to you while saying he was proud of you. You thanked him, noting it was the first time he’d talked to you that week.

But when you’d packed everything up, hugged your mother goodbye, and finally arrived in Tokyo, it felt like a slap to the face than anything else. Tokyo was nothing like where you grew up. You’d lived in the Hyogo Prefecture your entire life. Here, you were different. Talked different, walked different; everything about you was, to put it simply, different. Not that it stopped you from living your life. A week before your first term officially started, you found a flyer asking for a roommate. Without hesitation, you called whoever this Yachi Hitoka was and signed yourself right up. You two hit it off fairly well, despite being complete opposites, so here you were a year later, still living together. Hitoka was your closest friend, your best friend, your ride or die (except not really because she'd once told you she would turn you in if you ever really did run her ex over), the salt to your boiled egg. You loved her, you truly did. 

That didn't mean you liked her boyfriend. 

Despite never officially meeting him, you knew you didn't like him the first time he stood Hitoka up because he "forgot" about the date. You'd never dated, sleeping around was apparently not the same thing, but even you knew he wasn't shit. She'd assured you it was an honest mistake, that he wouldn't do it again, so you dropped it. Biggest mistake. You had half the mind to call your lawyer right then and tell him you were about to commit first degree manslaughter, when you found her crying a second time. She'd tried to make excuses, told you he was sweet. You told her he'd be sweeter with your foot in his ass. 

The fact he turned out to be a lying, cheating pig doesn’t surprise you. You couldn’t remember his face clearly, but you knew he was off. Your mother used to tell you to always trust your gut. 

“He’s not worth yer tears,” you said, rubbing comforting circles on Hitoka’s back. She hiccupped, wiping at her wet cheeks. 

“I- I really did like him,” she said, voice heavy from sobbing. You wanted to say _told you he was a bad guy_ but figured you could wait before you did. 

Hitoka shoved some more ice-cream into her mouth, ignoring the fact it was half melted. 

“He was ugly,” you tried, but she shook her head so hard she nearly slipped off the couch.

“You’ve never seen him.”

“I don’t need to. Cheatin’ is ugly, so he’s ugly.” That made Hitoka giggle a little and you beamed at her.

“No more tears, darlin’. Yer better than him anyways,” you told her. She leaned into your side and you wrapped an arm around her. You’d definitely start a fight the next time you say her ex. Whatever his name was. All you had to remember was that his hair was dark and messy, and he looked like a heartbreaker.

“I wish I was more like you,” she said quietly, eyes downcast,” I hate being so weak.”

You cupped her cheeks, ignoring the ice-cream now stuck to your palms, and squeezed. She yelped, cheeks too smushed together to talk.

“Ya’ don’t get to say that about yerself,” you said seriously,” yer one of the best people I’ve ever met, Yachi Hitoka. Cryin’ don’t make you weak.”

That made her cry harder. Burying her face into your chest, you let her sob until it died into little sniffles. You continued to rub circles into her back, telling her it would be okay, and guys sucked and that you’d buy her all the strawberry ice-cream she wanted. Hitoka was too nice, in your opinion. It was obvious that guy walked all over her and she’d let him. Cheating seemed to be where she drew the line, but you wondered what he’d done before that. Other than when he stood her up multiple times. Personally, you would’ve ditched him as soon as he did that, but Hitoka was kinder than you.

It was what you liked about her.

In high school, you had a few friends, but they were never as close to you as Hitoka was. They didn’t like the “reputation” you’d built up, whatever that meant. Not once had they ever actually been concerned _for_ you, instead they’d worried about how they’d look if they were seen hanging out _with_ you. Hitoka, sweet Hitoka, hadn’t batted an eye the first time you’d walked home after spending the night in some stranger’s room. She’d looked up from her desk, head cocked, and asked if you’d gotten home okay. When you said yes, she told you to at least text her the address so she knew you were safe.

“Ya’ know,” you started,” there’s this party…”

“And you want me to come,” Hitoka finished, squinting up at you through blood-shot eyes. You grinned down at her.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” you said,” maybe we’ll findja a new boy toy.”

“Don’t say it like that,” she replied, slapping your shoulder weakly. She giggled right after, though, and that just meant she was already in a better mood. “You can go find yourself some guy to go home with. I’ll just go to have fun.”

“Hey now!” you argued,” we’ll have fun together. No boys. Fuck boys.”

Hitoka beamed at you, starting to sit back up.

“A girl’s night, then,” she said, and you roughly patted her shoulder in agreement. 

“And if I see yer ex, I’ll throw my drink at him,” you added with a laugh as she pretended to scold you.

**page three**

You knew it was going to be a good night the moment Hitoka had let you apply her makeup.

“You’re good at this,” she told you, admiring herself in your vanity. You wiggled into your dress, motioning for Hitoka to zip you up.

“Lots’a practice,” you said. She pulled the zipper up for you, peering at your face from behind your shoulder. “Now, we gotta hurry so we can take a corner for ourselves.”

Hitoka blinked, pulling up her own little white skirt. It was a cute look on her, you thought, pastel colored and starry-eyed.

“Why a corner?”

“So we can laugh at everyone else, duh.”

“That’s mean!” she said, turning to hide a smile. You laughed back, fixing stray pieces of hair one last time. Grabbing your jacket and purse, you told Hitoka to hurry it up. She slipped on her flats, playfully bumping her shoulder against yours as you both left the apartment.

It was a short walk to the party. Apparently, it was in some dude’s house, not that you were sure of the actual owner. You didn’t care much either. All you had to know was that there was a party, and you were going.

Music blared throughout the house; sticky bodies pressed past yours. Truly, this felt more like home than your house back in Hyogo. Hitoka stayed latched to your side, clearly nervous. You grinned and told her she’d be totally fine because you were there. That seemed to make her perk up a little. It wasn’t until you’d safely found an unoccupied couch in the corner did you grab her shoulder.

“I’m gonna grab us some drinks,” you said loudly, the music nearly drowning you out. “Stay right here, okay?”

Hitoka nodded and said she’d be fine for a few minutes alone. Flashing her another grin, you turned back around.

More bodies were pushed into yours, alcohol in some of their breaths and sweat on their brows. The smell wasn’t pleasant, but you were used to it by now. It was just how these things smelt, no big deal. Your back accidentally bumped into someone’s front. With an _oof_ , you spun around to face them. A guy with a small face and dark hair swept to the side stumbled to catch you.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you said, offering a smile,” didn’t see ya’ there.”

The guy—who was looking more and more like a snake the longer you stared—waved you off. He smiled back but it didn’t look at all natural. Oh well, none of your business anyway.

“No harm done,” he replied, short eyebrows furrowing slightly when he looked at your face. “Aren’t you in one of my classes? Creative writing, right?”

He looked very vaguely familiar, but truth be told, you weren’t paying much attention to the students in that class. Maybe you’d seen him, maybe you hadn’t, you weren’t sure. But, with a friendly smile, you nodded instead.

“With Professor Watanabe?” you asked, mildly hoping he was mistaking you for someone else. Your hopes were stomped on when he nodded enthusiastically. Damn. You really didn’t know who he was.

“Daisho Suguru,” he introduced after seeing your smile waver. Your lips parted like you recognized him (you most certainly did not) and you introduced yourself. Daisho told you he remembered you from class, then, while absentmindedly scratching his cheek, said,

“Ah, you know, I thought you were cute but haven't got the chance to talk to you.”

Your smile nearly turned predatory at that. While you’d love nothing more than to flirt your way into his bed, you had other plans first. Maybe another time, when you hadn’t agreed on the whole _no boys_ policy with Hitoka.

“Shoulda’ said something sooner,” you replied, fluttering your lashes at him. “Listen, I gotta get back to my friend, but we should meet back up somewhere else.”

You said the words as innocently as you could, but the look on your face said something else. Daisho picked up on this because his expression matched yours. Exchanging numbers, you said your goodbyes as you pushed back through the crowd to get to Hitoka.

She was still where you left her. White skirt standing out amongst the crowd of darkly dressed people. You opened your mouth to tell her about your encounter, but the words fell off your tongue when you saw who she was standing with.

Her ex.

You’d recognize the messy black hair and sleazy look. He looked like a slime ball and here he was, talking to sweet Hitoka a day after cheating on her. With newfound determination, you marched over to them, fingers wrapped tightly around the red Solo cups in your hands.

“Oi, get the hell away from her.”

It was a good thing you played softball back in high school, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to throw the cup so accurately at him. You didn’t play center field for nothing, after all.

The red cup went sailing through the air in slow motion. Hitoka’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping as it connected with her ex’s head, the contents spilling over him. The cup fell uselessly to the ground after, tipping back and forth before rolling off somewhere. Not that you payed attention to it. Grabbing the guy by his collar, you dragged him right into your face.

Huh, you thought for a moment, he looked a little different than how you remembered.

“How the hell are ya’ gonna cheat on her and then talk to her like it’s nothin’?” you demanded, readying to dump your other drink on him. Your shout caught the attention of a few people near you, but they didn’t stop to stare long, too drunk or busy to pay attention. The guy’s eyes were wide, a soft hazel in contrast to his otherwise messy appearance. “Stay the hell away from-“

Hitoka grabbed your stomach, tugging you away from him as she stuttered something out,

“He’s not my ex!”

Oh. Letting yourself go lax against her, you finally got a good look at the guy (apparently not her ex) in question. He was tall, with broad shoulders and big arms, even with his surprised expression he was attractive. Damn, you’d really made a mess of things now.

“That so…” you trailed awkwardly, Hitoka close to tears as she bowed to the guy. She apologized profusely for you, even wrestling you down to make you bow to him too.

“Kuroo-san, I’m so, so sorry for her,” she said, hand on your head to force you to bow with her. “W-we’ll wash your shirt for you. We’ll even buy you a new one!”

You didn’t know who this _we_ was, but it certainly didn’t include you. This Kuroo was a complete stranger to you, you didn’t owe him anything even if you had thrown your drink at him. Better than vomit.

The Kuroo guy gave a laugh that made you feel warm. Curse attractive men for having a hold on you. You’d be so much more powerful if they didn’t.

“Don’t worry about it Yacchan,” he said far too nonchalantly for someone who was soaked in alcohol. It was beginning to smell, too.

“Ya’ heard ‘im, Hitoka, let-“

“Apologize,” she demanded, eyebrows furrowing at you. Your eye twitched. Yes, it was your fault he was wet, but in your defense, you were trying to defend her. What if it had been her ex? Then it would be a completely different story. “You have to apologize.”

No, you thought, you most definitely did not have to apologize.

But with the way Hitoka was puffing her cheeks out at you, you realized you would if you wanted to sleep in your room tonight. With an inward sigh, you mumbled an apology to the guy. He took it well enough, saying it was an honest mistake and that you were trying to defend her.

“Gives me a reason to leave, too,” he said after Hitoka apologized for the hundredth time,” this party sucks, anyway.”

You weren’t sure if he actually felt that way or if he was trying to make Hitoka feel better, but, again, it wasn’t your concern. You’d apologized, it was time to move on and enjoy your night while it was young. You managed to drag Hitoka away from him as he waved her off.

“You should feel bad,” she said to you, cheeks puffed. She did this when she was upset with you. Rubbing the back of your neck, you gave a weak shrug.

“He wasn’t mad,” you said but she shook her head, crossing her arms. You tugged on her arm. “C’mon, Hitoka, don’t let that ruin the rest of this beautiful night. Imagine how fun the hangover we’ll have tomorrow will be!”

Despite clearly not wanting to, she laughed, expression softening.

“Okay, okay, but no more throwing drinks at people.”

“Cross my heart.”

**page four**

The following morning was not, in fact, fun. You both took turns holding the other's hair back as one of you puked into the toilet. All the while Hitoka moaned she’d never drink again; a lie, but you weren’t feeling well enough to point this out.

You both spent the rest of the day on the couch, binge eating her leftover ice-cream and swearing off alcohol for good. At least Hitoka owned all the Barbie movies, so the day wasn’t all bad. You remembered her vaguely saying she’d texted that Kuroo person another apology. After you asked her how she knew him, and she said she’d met him in high school and they shared a business class, you completely forgot about him. You were too busy texting the guy you’d met at the party, Daisho you thought was his name, to care.

 **me:** _we should meet up soon :)_

 **booty call #2:** _like, for coffee?_

You snorted, shifting the blankets closer to you. Like hell you meant a date. He knew it too.

 **me:** _was thinkin somewhere more private_

 **booty call #2:** _ur place or mine_

With a grin, you asked for his address.

When Monday came around, and you forced yourself to get up at exactly 8:30 AM, you did it with a skip in your step. Not only was one of your classes cancelled, but you had an appointment with Daisho too. It was really your lucky day. If only your organic chemistry class could cancel, too. You hated being there with a passion. It was one of your worse subjects, but it mainly was due to the fact you didn’t care about anything science-y related to listen. Your professor had even mentioned you’d have to start going to tutoring sessions to raise your grade.

Pulling your hair behind your ear, you gave a shrug. Oh well. You’d worry about that when you got there.

Throwing a notebook and a pen into your bag, you slung it over your shoulder and headed out. Hitoka had already left, having an early class and wanting to grab breakfast on the way. You told her you’d take her out to lunch tomorrow at the café she liked. She’d made you promise you wouldn’t back out and you reminded her you weren’t her ex. She slapped your arm like she didn’t appreciate that comment.

Your chemistry class came and went with you hardly paying attention. It wasn’t your fault none of this was interesting and you had to take this class to graduate. You’d rather be in your creative writing class; at least then you could tease Daisho about tonight.

As your class finished, and you were hurriedly packing up, you heard your last name being called. Swallowing your disappointment, you walked up to your professor’s desk.

Professor Ueno was a middle-aged woman that constantly wore her glasses at the tip of her nose. Brown hair, flecked with gray, was, more often than not, pulled into a tight bun. There were wrinkles forming on the sides of her mouth and forehead, probably from the severe frown she constantly wore. When you were a child, your mother would go on about how being unhappy in life would age you. You hadn't believed her then, but you were starting to now. 

“A classmate has offered to tutor you,” she said when you paused in front of her. “Every Monday from 5 to 7 he said he was free.”

While your initial response was to argue, you bit your tongue instead. Dick was not more important than your grades, you chided. You’d just have to tell Daisho you’d be running a little late is all. With a nod and a strained smile, she gave you your new tutor’s contact information and where you’d be meeting. It was in the school’s library, apparently. How dull.

Staring at his name, you wondered if you should know it.

_Kuroo Tetsuro._

Huh, it felt familiar to you. Then again, he was apparently a classmate, so you supposed you’d heard someone else say it. With no goodbye, you left the class, this time with no skip in your step. Your other classes came and went just like that. After you’d eaten something for a late lunch (linner?), you’d dragged yourself to the library. Finding a good seat was easy because who in their right mind came to the library on a Monday. Apparently your tutor was a weirdo.

 **me:** _hey! in the library now_

 **tutor guy:** _b there in a min_

 **me:** _wearing a pink shirt btw_

 **tutor guy:** _no worries ik what u look like_

 **tutor guy:** _not in a weird way tho_

 **tutor guy:** _u sit in front of me in class_

 **me:** _aha right_

Maybe this guy was an even bigger weirdo than you thought. As you contemplated taking the D- in chemistry and running for your life, someone walked up to your table. Tilting your head up, you felt your jaw drop and his grin to grow.

Soft hazel eyes met yours, hazel eyes you were a little too familiar with. He even had the same hairstyle from the stupid party.

“Gonna throw your water bottle at me?” Kuroo asked, a shit eating grin on his face.

Well, that would explain why he was so familiar to you.


	2. BIT BY BIT

**page five**

You’d been wrong about Kuroo Tetsuro.

He wasn’t the charming, suave fuckboy you thought he’d be. He was a loser. And you meant loser in the kindest way possible. Like, loser with a smiley face at the end. Not the passive-aggressive smiley face you used when someone pissed you off but you can’t legally tell them to go fuck themselves; but the kind you used when you were trying to show your sincereness to a stranger. 

Ten minutes into tutoring and he’d cracked a chemistry joke that you, obviously, didn’t understand. You’d stared at him so blankly after he’d apologized for even making the joke. At least he was laid-back. Didn’t make you feel stupid for not understanding certain things. That was a positive trait. His apparent love for chemistry was not, in your eyes. You’d wanted to make a joke about only virgins enjoying the subject, but held your tongue. If he mentioned it to Hitoka you’re positive she’d finally suffocate you in your sleep. 

“See, you’re getting it,” he said after you’d finally gotten a problem right. “You just need to pay attention.”

“It’s borin’,” you replied, leaning your cheek against your knuckles. Your brain was beginning to fry from all these equations. “Like watchin’ a high school volleyball game. Or lacrosse.” 

Kuroo gasped like you’d personally stabbed his mother and then blamed it on him. You couldn’t even tell if he was joking from the genuinely hurt look on his face. He placed a hand over his heart for dramatic effect, you bet. 

“What? Ya’ play lacrosse?” 

“Volleyball,” he said, “and it’s not _boring_.” 

He spat the word out like it burned. You shrugged, an impish grin on your face. 

“Yer just keepin’ a ball off the floor,” you said. “Sounds mighty borin’ to me.” 

“Then what sports aren’t boring?”

“Don’t know. Soccer, maybe.”

“Soccer!” he burst, nearly rising from his chair. The librarian harshly shushed him and he threw an apologetic smile at her before facing you. Your grin widened. “Soccer isn’t that great.”

“Seems more badass than volleyball,” you said simply. “Unless ya’ can convince me otherwise.” 

Kuroo wasn’t an idiot. You’d figured he was smarter than he let on; a lot smarter than you, too. He knew you were laying out bait for him because he hesitated. Now, he should be tutoring you, not trying to argue against (the plain and simple fact) volleyball was boring. He _knew_ this. So he took the bait like a starved fish, anyway. For the next half hour, you listened to him rant about volleyball. There was clear passion behind his words, his eyes lighting up. It was cute. 

And you didn’t particularly care. 

Sure it might make you _seem_ like a bad person, but he was ranting about a sport you cared nothing about. You’d encouraged it, but only because any more chemistry talk would’ve blown your head up. It was really either you pretending to listen or him cleaning your brain off the library floor. If anything, you’d done the man a favor. 

You’d left the library after agreeing to meet up again on Wednesday. Without even thanking Kuroo for his time, you zoomed off. You had an appointment to get to, after all. Kuroo offered to walk you home, but you’d winked and said you had other plans with a suggestive smile. He’d gone oddly still at that, before laughing. It didn’t sound like the booming laugh you’d heard the entire tutoring session, though. Strange. 

Oh well. With a shrug, you dismissed the thought. Maybe he was some kind of prude. It wasn’t your concern. The thought was completely put out of your mind, especially when you’d arrived at Daisho’s apartment and he’d answered the door in a towel. No need to think about your loser (smiley face) tutor when you had something more important waiting in front of you. 

**page six**

“Kuroo-san asked about you,” Hitoka piped up after you’d come back with lunch. The cafe was on the smaller side, with only six tables inside and four outside. She preferred the ones outside, something about wanting to feel the sun. You’d just went with it. 

“Asked what?” You sat her sandwich in front of her, bringing your soup to your side. Despite the warm weather, you opted to eat something hot. Hitoka told you to at least get a cold drink, so you did because you knew it was better to keep her happy.

She pulled the onions out of her sandwich, brows knitted carefully. If you hadn’t known her any better, you would assume she was concentrated on deconstructing her sandwich. (You kept telling her to just order without the onions, but she insisted she didn’t want to inconvenience the workers.) But you did know her, so you knew she was trying to think of what to say. 

“For your Instagram,” she replied, putting her sandwich back together. You blew on a spoonful of soup absentmindedly. 

“He has my number he could’ve just asked me,” you said. Hitoka nearly dropped her sandwich, fumbling with it so it didn’t splatter across the sundress she wore. 

“He has your n-number!?” she repeated, aghast. Your brows furrowed in confusion. What was the big deal? He had her number too. Her cheeks began to heat up and she broke eye contact, staring intently at the onions on her plate. “I-I didn’t know it was like _that_.” 

What in the world was she talking about? Like what- Oh. You grinned at her, wiggling your eyebrows. 

“Hitoka, yer mind’s in the gutter,” you said with a snicker. “He’s tutorin’ me. _Not_ sleepin’ with me.” 

She stuttered out another apology, face redder than before. You continued to tease her, mostly because it was so easy, but stopped when she threatened to have you sleep outside. You didn’t need a repeat of her locking you out until you apologized for calling her goldfish ugly (it was hideous) to her ugly goldfish. Never did you look at Mr. Gills (no, you couldn’t convince her to change his name) the same way again. 

It was a funny thought, though. Sleeping with Kuroo. 

**page seven**

Kuroo was already there when you arrived at the library the following Wednesday. You admired him from afar for a moment, taking in the slope of his nose and jaw. From here, while he concentrated on whatever was in front of him, he looked good. Attractive, even. It almost made you forget he played volleyball and liked chemistry of all things. Then he turned and saw you, a stupid smile pulling across his face and you were reminded of who you were thirsting over. A loser (smiley face) who liked using chemistry-related pick up lines on you. 

Your attraction went back to zero. 

Taking the seat next to him, Kuroo pointed to a page in his textbook. It looked vaguely familiar. Like you probably would know what it was if you had paid attention. 

“You remember going over this in class?” he asked. You shook your head and he nodded. 

Kuroo was a good enough tutor. He explained concepts well, went over them as many times as you needed, never belittled you for not understanding. That didn’t mean you learned anything, though. Whatever he said went right over your head, no matter how hard you tried to understand. It was boring. You didn’t _like_ boring things. That was why you dropped guys you were talking to like it was a televised sport. That was why you moved so far away from home. That was why you liked the thrill of meeting up with strangers. Life was meant to be lived at a fast pace, never stopping, never regretting. Your whole purpose in life was to get that little bit of thrill. The kind that had your blood pumping and your heart racing, sending butterflies up your throat. 

Sitting in a library learning about chemistry did not evoke any of those feelings. If anything, it made you want to commit crimes against humanity. Like littering. Or sticking gum under desks for the next person to brush against. 

After, finally, getting one problem right, you allowed your forehead to smack against the table. 

“You’re doing better than last time,” Kuroo said, but you didn’t particularly care to hear it. You covered your head with a groan. “C’mon, I’ll buy you dinner if you finish this.”

Immediately, you perked up at the prospect of free food. Food you wouldn’t have to spend your money on. Food that was going to be _given_ to you for free. 

Snatching the pencil from him, you got back to work. 

“Better be ready to go broke,” you said with a grin. Make his pockets hurt, you’d once told Hitoka, only for her to say she would feel too guilty for doing that. This was why you’d never tell her about the time you had a sugar daddy. 

“We’ll see if you can even finish it,” he challenged, a crooked grin on his face. 

“Gonna eat yer words, benchwarmer,” you said, already on the next problem. He cackled at that, obviously trying to bait you into doing the work. You fell for it the same way he did last time, hook, line, and sinker. 

It took you well over two hours to get it done, with Kuroo’s constant help. The idea of a nice seafood pasta was the only thing spurring you on. A nice, free seafood pasta, you might add. Emphasis on free. You hoped Kuroo had more money than he looked like he did, otherwise this wouldn’t be a fun night for him. 

When you did finish, you proceeded to throw the paper on the table like you’d gotten a touchdown and packed your things up. Kuroo followed, slower than you, with a grin. It looked almost sleazy, and maybe if he was some random you’d just met you’d think it was, but you knew it was just his face. Great, he had a sleazy looking smile and liked chemistry and volleyball. His only positive trait was the free food you were gonna bum off of him. 

“Where are you takin’ me?” you asked, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. He grinned harder at that, a little shit-eating grin you should have known meant trouble. 

“It’s a surprise.”

**page eight**

Oh, it was a surprise alright. 

“A Seven-Eleven,” you said, jaw nearly spraining from how low it dropped. “Ya really know how to spoil a girl, dontcha?” 

“Only the best for my students,” Kuroo said, holding his hand in front of the automatic door. “After you, princess.” 

If only those cheap, plastic umbrellas were sharp enough to stab a man. You might risk life in jail if it meant hurting him the way he was hurting you. Maybe you shouldn’t have expected a 5-course meal from him. He looked like he barely had ten dollars to his name, and that was before tax. You’d at least thought he’d have the decency to take you to a McDonald’s. Splurge a little and order you some Burger King instead. 

Not a convenience store with a clerk who was clearly asleep at the register. 

Oh well, you’d just have to get creative in spending all of his money. Rolling your eyes, you walked past him and into the 7-Eleven. It smelt clean, at least, like the floors had been recently mopped. Nobody else was in there, the aisles full of snacks and a flickering light. 

Great, you thought, you were the lousy side character in a horror movie where Kuroo of all people was the main. It was either you were the mean girl who died and the audience celebrated your quick demise, or you were the love interest and this was a shitty slow-burn. Kuroo seemed none the wiser, already skimming through different breads like he wasn’t aware there was a murderer in the back room (you could tell by the flickering light and empty hotdog roller).

“Yer buyin’ me ice-cream too,” you said, brushing by him and grabbing an egg salad sandwich. You’d get a custard pudding too just because you could and Kuroo couldn’t stop you. Main character or not. 

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving his hand around. His eyebrows were scrunched together in concentration, the same look he’d been giving the worksheet back at the library. It was one of his few cute faces. 

You made a mental note to change his contact to loser (smiley face) when you got home. 

**page nine**

It started as a crush. 

You were the pretty girl that sat in front of him in his chemistry class. He’d noticed you as soon as you sat down, lollipop between your lips, hair curving along your neck. Kuroo reasoned it was a completely human reaction to stare at exceptionally beautiful people for an awkward amount of time. Not that he stares. Stared. Maybe once or twice but he made sure to focus on the professor and not the back of your head in hopes of catching sight of your side profile one more time. The staring lasted for, at least, a week and a half before the shock wore off and he was able to exist in your world without the breath being knocked from his lungs like you’d just gut-punched him repeatedly. 

Okay, he still glanced at you, but it was less often than he used to. Because it was just a crush. A small, harmless crush on the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in person. There was nothing wrong with that. 

Then you’d come to class with your hair in a ponytail and he thought you looked cuter with your hair up. Then you decided to switch it up and come in a braid and he thought you looked best with that. And _then_ you came in pigtails and he decided you just always looked nice. It was impossible for you to look _bad_. 

Kuroo didn’t even know your name or what your voice sounded like but he pictured strolling down Tokyo holding your hand. Or maybe you’d cling to his arm. You seemed the type. Not that he’d know because, realistically, he knew you were attractive and that was it. You could’ve been a serial killer or preferred pineapple on pizza and he wouldn’t be any wiser. 

It was three weeks in when he finally learned your name and what your voice sounded like. All because a guy, clearly on the college’s soccer team, threw an arm around your waist as he called your name. Your name was pretty, he thought, suited you. There was an obvious dialect to your words, a similar one those Inarizaki players had back in high school. If you weren’t from around here, maybe he could offer to show you around Tokyo. Take you to his favorite places and show you the best tiny restaurants. His hopes were quickly thrown out a window and then body slammed when you ran a hand up the guy’s chest, eyelashes batting as you said something. 

Of course you were taken. It was stupid to have even thought he had a chance with someone who didn’t even know his face. But still, he caught his eyes straying to the back of your head, following the slope of your neck and slant of your shoulders. Maybe he’d get lucky next time. 

Yachi had mentioned you one day while they were grabbing lunch. Said your name and casually added on “my roommate” at the end of her sentence. He nearly dropped his salad, fumbling to keep his ranch packet still. She gave him a questioning look and Kuroo waved her off. 

“We share a class,” he said offhandedly, like you were just some classmate and not the girl he daydreamed about. Kenma told him he was a step away from writing your name in his notes and doodling hearts around him. 

“I should introduce you two,” Yachi continued, “I think you’d get along.” 

“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” he asked before he could stop himself. Kuroo had only seen Soccer Guy that one time. You’d either dumped him or you never dated him at all. He hoped for either one to be true. 

“No?” She pressed a finger to her lips in thought. “She hasn’t dated anyone since we’ve lived together.” 

Yachi made a face like she wanted to say more but thought better of it. Kuroo didn’t push, some things weren’t meant for him to know. 

So you _were_ single. He’d just have to let Yachi set the two of you up. Maybe he should mention his little, minuscule crush on you. Casually ask for some advice without looking like a weirdo. Yachi would be too nice to call him out, which worked in his favor. Kuroo had enough experience with dating anyway. He’d been on at least three dates during high school, and then a handful during college. That basically made him an expert. If you ignored the fact most girls dropped the “you’re not what I expected” on him with a forced smile. He didn’t know what they expected. Kuroo would never have described himself as a fuckboy. Not that there was anything wrong with guys who were, he just wasn’t one. Volleyball dominating his high school years and now college didn’t give him a lot of time to go around sleeping with whomever. 

Besides that, he was more of a _love_ type of guy. 

But he’d never get the chance to ask Yachi for help because the whole Party Incident occurred. Ask and you shall receive, he supposed, as you gripped the collar of his (brand new) shirt. Despite the threats falling off your pretty lips, he realized, past the smell of sweat and alcohol, you smelt like sugar cookies. Kuroo couldn’t bring himself to get annoyed, even though if you’d been anyone else he would’ve snapped, and brushed off Yachi’s apologies. He’d gotten you to notice him alright. Kuroo told himself it was better to just be grateful for the small blessings in life. For all he knew you’d hit him with a car instead of a cup next time. He’d thank you regardless. 

When Professor Ueno called him over that Monday, he was worried it was about him. Then she’d said your name and the fact you needed a tutor. Screw getting hit by a car, he saw an even better opportunity in front of him. 

It was the classic Tutor Your Crush and Get Her to Fall in Love With You scheme. He’d seen in plenty of his older sister’s rom-coms to know how they worked. 

He agreed easily, offering up his number and hoping he didn’t look too excited. 

And then he’d gotten to finally, finally got to have a conversation with you that didn’t involve cups of alcohol being launched at him. 

During that short (it was three hours along) tutoring session he learned a couple of things. One, you were just as upfront and bold as you were at the party. Two, you were not the sweet, charming girl he’d imagined you to be. Three, you were a lot more human than he expected. 

He’d gone into this expecting an angel to grace him, and you weren’t. You were a completely normal person who didn’t like chemistry or volleyball. It was his fault for putting you on such a pedestal, he supposed, but even after learning all that, he couldn’t help but admire how pretty you still were. With circles under your eyes and a frown etched on your lips, you still looked like poetry. If he had a way with words, he was sure he’d write sonnets about the color of your eye and the way your nose sloped. You must have inspired Oscar Wilde in a past life, he was sure of it. Van Gogh had to have painted night skies and daisies and rivers in your likeness. Kenma would have scrunched his face up in disgust if he ever told him any of this.

Good things don’t last, though, they weren’t meant to.

It wasn’t like you owed him anything. To you, he was nothing more than a tutor. You could sleep with whomever you wanted to. But that didn’t stop his stomach from twisting uncomfortably, jealousy’s green head peering to look him in the eye. It was an ugly feeling. He was a grown man who paid taxes on time (Bokuto did not), he didn’t need to be acting like a petty school girl. 

Kuroo forced himself to stop thinking about you after that. You were in your own world, completely separate from him. Like two different dimensions and the only reason you were talking to him was a silly crossover special. He didn’t have a chance. 

So why did his heart flutter every time you shot him a grin? When you punched his shoulder or winked at him playfully? 

It was stupid. Hope was so stupid. 

“Is the sandwich that interestin’?” you drawled beside him, curiously peering over the side of his shoulder. He could smell your hair from him (in a totally non-creepy way). 

“It’s a life or death decision,” he replied easily, grabbing the nearest one. An egg and ham sandwich wasn’t his go-to, but he’d make do with what he had. “You done?” 

“Yup, ready to go broke, benchwarmer?” you asked, cocking your hip and smiling. Kuroo rolled his eyes, herding you to the cashier. 

“I’m actually a millionaire in disguise.” 

“And I’m really good at chemistry.” 

“Haha,” he said but he was grinning. Being friends would be nice. He could learn your favorite color, if you were a cat or a dog person. Judge you on whether you liked pineapples on your pizza or not. 

You’d woken up the cashier with a loud “excuse me.” He jumped so bad you both had to cover your mouths to keep from laughing, only bursting out in a fit of chuckles when you’d both left the store. He cracked jokes about it until you’d found a decent bench to sit on. 

“What’d ya get?” you asked, pressing into his side. Your eyes sparkled at his sandwich, despite having your own right in your hands. He held it out of reach, far above his head. 

“You have your own,” he said, “I nearly bought you the entire store.” 

Your bottom lip came out and his constitution wavered. You could ask him to hit someone with a car and there was a 50% chance he would do it. 

“I thought ya said you’d do anything for yer students,” you quipped, reaching up to grab his sandwich. Kuroo pushed your head away with his free hand as you struggled around. 

“There are rules,” he said. 

“Just one bite ain't against the rules.” 

“You didn’t make the rules, _I_ did.” 

“Ya forgot yer own rules then,” you said grabbing the wrist holding his sandwich. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the sound of your yelp cut him off. You’d placed both of your knees on the bench, leaning your body over his. Neither of you had noticed your knee slipping off until you were tumbling down. 

Kuroo moved faster than his brain could catch up. His arm lurched out, wrapping around your waist and tugging you back toward him. Neither of you spoke, wide eyes staring at each other. Your chest was pressed to his, breath on his chin. He had never considered his life to be a cliché romance novel, but here you were, in his arms and inches away from his lips. Kuroo was certain he’d stopped breathing when you opened your mouth. 

“I dropped my sandwich.” 

He was silent. You were silent. 

“You can have half of mine.” 

Pulling away from him, you mourned the loss of your egg salad sandwich as Kuroo handed you his half. The smell of your hair, sugar cookies and something else, was stuck in his nose. Your skin on his, chest on chest. The image was burned beneath his eyelids no matter how hard he tried to forget. 

“Hey Kuroo,” you said and he drew his eyes to you. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” he replied as neutrally as possible, like there weren't goosebumps along his arms from where he touched you. He wondered if you felt like this too. Taking another glance at you, and the way you chewed on his sandwich, he wished he could see into your mind. As a child, his mother would tell him the world would be a simple place if people said what they thought. 

There was egg on the corner of your lips and your braid was beginning to come undone. It was odd to see you so _human_. Sitting on the bench next to him. Breathing the same air. He’d spent the last few weeks acting like you were Aphrodite and he was a lonely worshipper who kissed the ground you walked on. But now, kicking your legs and looking at the stars, he realized you and he were similar after all. 

“I need to get home soon, there’s somethin’ I gotta watch,” you said, shoving the rest of the sandwich into your mouth. You used the back of your hand to wipe your mouth, holding your bag of sweets to your chest. 

“What show?” he asked to be conversational. You let out a nervous laugh, averting your eyes. 

“Oh, ya know… a show,” you said dumbly, scratching your cheek. Kuroo gave you an unamused stare. 

“Yeah, but _what_ show?”

“Promise ya won’t make fun of me?”

“I wouldn’t,” he said honestly. Unless you were going home to watch porn, and even then he’d judge you for it, not make fun of you. Okay, maybe a couple of jokes, he couldn’t help himself. 

You narrowed your eyes like you were trying to assess him. 

“There’s this streamer I watch,” you start slowly, like you’re waiting for him to start laughing. When he doesn’t, you continue, “Kodzuken, ya know him?” 

Kuroo could have laughed and cried and cheered all at once in that moment. He settled on nodding instead, keeping a carefully collected face of nonchalance. 

“I know him,” he said casually, throwing a shrug in for good measure. 

“Yeah,” you said obliviously, “he’s starting to get more popular.” 

“No, I _know_ him,” Kuroo corrected. You gave him a blank look and he finally let the grin slip on to his face. “We grew up together. He’s my best friend.” 

You grabbed his shoulders so fast he nearly fell off the bench. 

“Are ya lyin’?” 

“Nope,” he said calmly, enjoying the way your eyes sparkled. 

“Introduce me,” you all but demanded. “Ya gotta, Kuroo, I’ll do anythin’.” 

“Anything?” 

“Yes, any-“ 

“What’s your favorite color?” Kuroo wanted to slam his head into the nearest garbage can and leave himself there to rot. Of all things he could have asked, of all things he could have said, he went with that. He didn’t mean to ask it, but last night he’d been scrolling through a list of questions to ask a girl and that had been one and now he looked like an id-

“Gray,” you said seriously. “I like gray.” 

Kuroo blinked at you in disbelief, the panic leaving his veins. 

“Gray?” he repeated like you’d just spit in his drink. 

“There’s nothin’ wrong with it,” you defended with a huff. 

“Other than the fact it’s an old person color-“ 

“Kodzuken,” you unhelpfully reminded with a swift poke to his ribs. He winced, rubbing the spot with narrowed eyes. 

“I’ll set up a meeting,” he said, “but there’s one more thing.” 

You crossed your arms, plastic bag crinkling against you. 

“What?” 

“We should be friends.” 

You stared. He stared. The stars leaned in as though listening to the tale of two young lovers before love even existed. 

“Yer not what I expected,” you said carefully, eyeing him up. Kuroo bit back a nasty remark because you didn’t know how many times he’d heard that line. How many times he’d been forced to laugh it off when a girl expressed their disappointment in getting to know him. It still stung, the words burning holes into his heart he pretended wasn’t made of glass. 

“Did I exceed your expectations?” he asked jokingly instead of everything else. He remembered his mother and how she’d say he needed to be honest with his thoughts. He remembered her and decided to ignore that advice because it had never done her any good anyway. 

But you shrugged instead. 

“Thought ya would ask me to suck ya off or somethin’,” you said simply. Had Kuroo been eating at that moment, he would have choked and then died on the way to the hospital and left you with the guilt of knowing you’d killed a man. 

“I wouldn’t,” he said without any bite, he couldn’t muster any up. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. But it was obviously on yours. Were you actually thinking about doing it? Was it on your mind right now? Taking a look at you, and how calm your face was, he decided you couldn’t be thinking about that. Unless you were. His face was beginning to warm and he stored those thoughts away for a later time. 

“I know,” you said, “Yer a pretty cool guy.” 

And you smiled, thankfully not commenting on his pink cheeks. Kuroo wanted to be a lot of things to you. A friend. A guy you liked. Maybe your boyfriend. But he could settle on being a _pretty cool guy_ instead. 

He liked the sound of that.


End file.
